


Daddy Warbucks

by flippyspoon



Series: Brightonverse [6]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy's going bald.  This is much more important than WWII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Warbucks

**New York City, September 1940**

 

Jimmy Kent sat at a small kitchen table near a half-open window as the spiral of his cigarette smoke drifted outside where the constant humming and buzzing and general skirmish of the city complimented nicely, he thought, the jazzy horn playing from their phonograph in the living room.  He glanced up at the cuckoo clock on the wall (given to them by their doting former landlady Miss Collins).  Thomas was late with dinner.  Which was fine.  Only Jimmy was half-starved and the ice box was empty.  He stood and stretched and poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down, flicking the first page of the Superman comic on the table open.  He was reading it a third time.

He had been reading the funnies.  But suddenly something about Daddy Warbucks in  _Little Orphan Annie_  had bothered him.

He couldn’t put his finger on it.

He leaned on his hand and reached up to fidget with his hair, finding that it wasn’t quite as near to his forehead as usual.  “As usual” meaning a few years ago.

Ah…that was it.

A shiver of worry crept up his spine and he rose from the table and rushed to the bathroom of their well-appointed apartment-the sort of place Jimmy could never have imagined living, even after years in Brighton.  But then they had come to America and Schiller had supported Thomas in opening up his own nightclub.  It wasn’t competition, Schiller said, because he had no intentions of opening a club in America.  Though now Schiller’s clubs were in a spot of trouble, there being a war on.  Schiller had indeed high tailed it to New York and lived on Park Avenue where he sighed over telegrams.

Thomas and Jimmy had done quite well for themselves and they had the dwelling to prove it.  They had burgundy carpeting and tables of shiny smooth wood ingrained with dark swoops and gold accents. They had a little glass bar and a globe on a wooden stand.  They had a couple of paintings on the wall that the woman who Schiller had referred them to said were good.  They had shrugged and agreed.  Jimmy thought they were strange paintings; all red and grey angles.  But he found himself staring at them often.  They had Jimmy’s Chair, which was massive and covered in soft leather and it was Jimmy’s Chair because when Thomas sat in it, Jimmy couldn’t help but bound over and plop down into Thomas’s lap to straddle him because they fit together in it so perfectly.

They also had the bathroom which had mint and black tiling and a clawfoot tub and a large vanity which Jimmy stood before as he frowned into the mirror.

It was further back.  His hair was further back.  It suddenly seemed a dramatic change.

“Bloody Daddy Warbucks!” Jimmy grumbled to himself.

“Jimmy?”  Thomas’s holler made him jump and he swallowed, frowning in its direction.  He hadn’t heard the door.  He turned the water faucet on and off as if washing his hands, waited a moment, and went out to see Thomas heading towards the kitchen, carrying a cardboard box.

Thomas, Jimmy often noted (and usually with admiration) was not remotely losing his hair. Thomas was salt and pepper grey and would soon be a silver fox.

Which did not seem fair.

“What’ve you got there?” Jimmy said, following Thomas into the kitchen.  “Smells good.”

“Corned beef mainly,” Thomas said, and set the box down on the table.  “Some bread, possibly some tongue…pickles, pickled eggs, something potato,  something chocolate, and I’ve got some ice cream-”

“Perfect,” Jimmy said.  “But what’ll you eat?”

“Very funny,” Thomas said, and took off his coat to sit down and groan in relief.  He nodded at the comic book.  “You were reading that when I left.”

“So I read it again,” Jimmy muttered.  He took the box to their kitchen counter and began unwrapping the meat.

“And the funnies,” Thomas mused.  “You do know there’s a war on back home?”

“Yes, it’s awfully depressing,” Jimmy said wryly.  “I thought I’d see if I could get any ideas for the war effort from Superman.”

“And…Popeye?” Thomas said.

“At’s right.”  He tore off a piece of corned beef and tasted it.  “Mmm… Oh God, that’s good.  Everything has so much flavor here.”

“That’s called salt,” Thomas said.

Jimmy found them plates and utensils and the good mustard from the cupboard.  They did have a housekeeper and sometimes maid but they didn’t employ her for everyday.

“Let me ask you something,” Jimmy said, as he put dinner together.  “Do you think Daddy Warbucks is at all attractive?”

Thomas was silent and Jimmy turned to face him, gnawing on a pickle.

“Daddy Warbucks,” Thomas repeated. “The bloke who looks after Little Orphan Annie.”

“Yeh, him,” Jimmy said, as if it were a perfectly normal question.

“Uh no, I don’t find him particularly attractive.”  Thomas smirked and picked up the Superman comic, waving it around.  “Clark Kent?  Now you’ve got something.  Kent…  You two related?”

“Is it ‘cause he’s bald?” Jimmy said.  He tapped his foot, suddenly tense.

“Clark Kent is very much not-”

“Daddy Warbucks!”

“Oh.”  Thomas sighed.  “Why are we discussing Daddy Warbucks’ baldness?  I thought you were hungry.”

“Just answer the question, Thomas!” Jimmy said, pointing a mustard-covered butter knife in his direction.

Thomas’s eyes widened for a moment and he said, “Well, I don’t know. He seems old, for one.  And no, baldness isn’t particularly appealing-”

“Oh, you just would say that!” Jimmy threw the knife on the counter and stalked out of the kitchen.

Behind him he heard Thomas say, “What in the bloody hell-”  
Jimmy went back to their black and mint green bathroom and shut the door, locking it.  In the mirror his hairline seemed to have magically receded even further.  It was probably his imagination.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He picked up a comb and started combing his hair different ways to cover more forehead landscape.

It just looked like he was trying too hard.

Thomas knocked on the door.  “Jimmy, what on earth-”

“Go away!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’!”

“Fat lot it’s nothin’! Would you open the door and stop bein’ a child for no reason?”

“I’m not a child, Thomas!  I’m old and bald!” He kicked the door.

He felt like crying.

Thomas didn’t say anything for a while and then: “ _What_?”

“Never mind, alright? Would you just go away!”

Thomas sounded incredulous.  “Did you say you’re old and bald?”

Jimmy sniffed and leaned against the door. “Yes. I’m nearly forty-six and I’m losin’ my hair.”

“Please, I beg of you, unlock the door.”

Very reluctantly, he unlocked and opened the door to reveal Thomas wearing an amused smile.

Thomas was wearing a new double-breasted suit. He looked just like a film star.

”You’re not old,” Thomas said. “And you’re not bald. Where are you getting that?”

Jimmy smoothed his hair back with one hand and glared.  “My hair’s further back. I’m losin’ it. Don’t tell me I’m not.”

Thomas shrugged.  “Alright, someday you’ll be bald maybe. You’re not bald now.”

Jimmy held his head in his hands.  “How can you…” He groaned.

“And forty-five isn’t old, thank you very much,” Thomas pointed out.  “I’m fifty-six, I must be a Methuselah by your arithmetic-”  
“Oh, but you’re dashing and regal,” Jimmy sneered.  “You’re like bloody Clark Gable-”

“Aw, thanks.”

“Oh shut up!”

Thomas cupped Jimmy’s cheeks between his palms.  “My darling ridiculous wonderful man, you are lovely. And always young at heart. And I hope you do lose all your hair. They’ll be more skin for me to kiss.” He kissed Jimmy’s forehead. “Though I wouldn’t hardly notice anyhow.  I’d still see that gorgeous little footman who walked into my life in 1920 and blew up my heart.”

Jimmy’s mouth quirked into a hesitant smile.  “Soppy old man.”

“I could always buy you more hats.” He kissed Jimmy’s lips.

“Stupid.”

“Lovely.”

“Rude.”

“Delicious.”

“You’re a loon.”

“You’re my dear heart.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Mine too.”

“Good,” Thomas said. “Can we eat now?”

Jimmy sighed and kissed Thomas with tongue and reached down to tweak the slight chub of his hips. “Yes, but you’re gettin’ tubby.”

“How dare you, James.”

 

 


End file.
